


post-premiere relaxation manual

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: Actor RPF, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Dildos, F/M, Fingerfucking, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Richard is tense and Cate helps him relax. (a.k.a. I can't even write het porn without sticking things up a guy's arse and I'm going to hell.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	post-premiere relaxation manual

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme prompt on livejournal which asked for Richard Armitage anal play, preferably involving Cate Blanchett. On my computer this is literally just called _i swear i'm going to hell.docx_ , fml.
> 
> Also, [have a NSFW video of Richard Armitage's arse.](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xdjw3z_richard-armitage-in-between-the-she_shortfilms#.UOefmkL3Bok) You're welcome.

It isn’t planned and they’ve never done it before, and Richard thinks they probably won’t do it again either. He isn’t entirely sure how they got here or why, but Cate seems to know what she’s doing so he doesn’t complain.

“You’re tense,” she said earlier, inside the theatre just before the lights went out and the movie started.

Richard tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, I mean this is kind of terrifying. Isn’t it?”

She shrugged her shoulders, offered him a warm, kind smile and squeezed his forearm. “It’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he said, and he did.

The creases around her eyes deepened with the widening of her smile, and she leant in to bump her forehead against his temple. “Good,” she whispered, sending shivers down his spine.

Then, after the premiere and with drinks in hand, he said, “I know, I know. You told me so.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, as if it to say that _well, I did,_ and took a sip of champagne. Her mouth left a faint lipstick print on the glass, and she said, “You’re still tense, though.”

He shrugged, feeling awkward, and said, “Yeah, well.”

“You need to relax,” she told him, gently scolding.

He grimaced, rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.”

Cate cocked her head and watched him fidget for a moment, her face holding nothing but warmth but her eyes coolly assessing. “Anything I can help with?” she asked, like she genuinely wanted to know.

“Uh, not really,” he said, gulping down too much wine at once to cover his uneasiness. “It’s not exactly something you can help with.” He meant it as a joke, an attempt to downplay his discomfort and get her to back off and change the subject, but she only grinned.

She didn’t say anything because she didn’t have to, just chuckled, low and knowing and dirty coming from someone so perfectly elegant as her.

Richard lies facedown on the bed because she tells him to, just like he undressed because she told him to. She ducks her head as if to hide a smile and slips her shoes off, flexes her toes against the carpeted floor, all the delicate bones in her feet shifting under her skin. He crosses his arms below his head and shifts his hips against the scratchy fabric of the sheets, his own feet burrowing into the pillows because he has this habit of facing the bottom end of the mattress when he does this and he’s nervous enough without changing that for her benefit.

“Anything particular that you’d like?” she asks, smooth and gentle and like all that matters here and now is what he wants. “Anything at all.” She switches off the overhead light, leaving one lamp in the right-hand corner and the two on the bedside tables the only illumination in the room. It cocoons them in a warm, orange glow that makes it easier to talk for Richard.

“In my suitcase,” he says, and has to clear his throat when his voice comes out scratchy. “Left inside pocket, there’s,” he leaves the sentence hanging there unfinished as she pads to his suitcase and unzips it, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet of his hotel room.

His eyes follow the smooth lines of the backs of her legs until they disappear under her dress, as she leans forward to sort through his things. He abruptly wishes he’d put the suitcase on the floor so she’d have to bend over to open it, then rests his forehead on the mattress to take deep breaths.

There’s a bit of rustling and the sound of footsteps on carpet, and then she sits on the bed next to him. He turns his head to look at her and tries to smile; she holds up a nearly empty bottle of lube and grins triumphantly.

“Found it,” she says, and he chuckles even as he’s starting to get hard from the familiar position and the excitingly unfamiliar scent of her perfume. “I also,” she continues calmly, raising her other hand to show a shiny, purple dildo clasped in it, “found this. Would you like me to use it?”

Richard’s toes curl in misplaced embarrassment, and he has to swallow a few times before he can speak: “It’s really not necessary.”

“Would you like me to do it, though?” she asks, horribly kind and sincere in her offer.

Richard shakes his head. “No, I, it’s fine.”

Cate studies him for a moment, and he feels absurdly compelled to keep eye contact. “Alright, then,” she says, eventually and quietly, and sets the dildo aside on the nightstand. “Spread your legs for me.”

He shifts his thighs apart a little, and her eyes are on the flexing muscles of his ass. She settles between his legs then, her own folded under her, eerily graceful in her motions. Richard looks at her over his shoulder and she smiles another one of those warm, kind smiles that make something tight and knotted loosen in his chest. Her palms smooth up the backs of his thighs and he puts his head back on his crossed forearms with a soft sigh, the tips of her fingers skimming the underside of his buttocks.

She starts with his back; broad, firm sweeps of her hands down the sides of his spine and the heels of her hands pressing into tense shoulders. She digs her thumbs into the dimples at the small of his back, rubs hard circles that are almost uncomfortably painful, sending sharp bursts of pleasure straight to his stiffening cock. He grunts and her thumbs move lower, short nails tracing just along his crack as her other fingers squeeze and knead.

“Oh,” he says, gone a little breathless, “yeah.”

Cate drags her nails down his cheeks, scratching lightly and then harder when his hips twitch up off the mattress and he groans. She finds a sensitive spot, the one that makes it feel like his prostate is getting jostled with every motion, and pushes against it. He bucks up and back into her hands again, murmuring something unintelligible as she moves her thumbs in rhythmic semi-circles, the sensation at once intense enough to make the tip of his cock swell and leak and too remote to be what he really wants.

“Yeah,” he says again, voice raspy and needy in the still air, “right there, please.”

It isn’t quite what he means to say and she seems to understand, letting go and shifting behind him. The outsides of her legs brush the insides of his and he makes a humming noise, then grunts and jerks in surprise when she slaps him just where thigh curves into buttock. She rubs the faintly stinging skin, then does it again. This time he lets out a bewildered groan, rubbing himself against the sheets as he hears her uncap the lube behind him.

“Hold still,” she says, gentle and firm all at once, and he stops humping the mattress and is rewarded with slick fingers spreading him open.

“Fuck,” he groans, hands curling into useless fists as Cate works her thumb against his clenched opening.

“Good?” she asks, something in her voice that might be smugness and is definitely knowledge.

“Do you really have to ask?” he says, half-laughing half-groaning, and she flicks her nail against his perineum. “Please,” he says, pushing back a little.

The slide of her thumb into his body is slow and unrelenting, hot and wet and glorious. She twists it around, hooks it against his inner walls and drags it out again, tugging at the tight muscle and forcing it to relax. She pushes it back in again and it’s a little drier this time, so he moans at the friction. She doesn’t seem to go in for the whole in-out thing, instead pushing the pad of her thumb against his inner muscles in idiosyncratic patterns that make him grunt every time she almost grazes his prostate.

“Put another one in, please,” he says, and he thinks she snorts in unladylike amusement.

She says nothing, though, just removes her thumb and replaces it with two different fingers after adding more lube. She starts stretching him in earnest then; scissoring her fingers open and holding them, making him keen and rear up, thigh muscles straining. She rubs a soothing hand down his flank, then relaxes her fingers and lets him breathe for a moment after he collapses with a gasp and a moan.

It’s not until she’s got three digits comfortably inside him that she stops focussing on loosening him up and starts purposely stimulating him. Even then she doesn’t thrust or push and shove, instead it’s a rhythmic curling motion that works his prostate like a vibrator in slow motion. Pleasure shoots through him in pulses, making him groan and curse with it, hips bucking up to get more more more as his cock throbs where it’s trapped between him and the mattress.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to use it?” Cate asks, sounding every bit as unruffled with her fingers in Richard’s arse as she did earlier on the red carpet, in front of all those cameras.

He doesn’t have to ask to know what she means, doesn’t even pretend to, grinds out, “Please, yeah,” instead.

He feels almost empty without her fingers inside of him, loose and stretched as he is now, and the tip of the dildo is cold and wet with lube. The pressure is different, harder and less yielding than her fingers, but in circumference it’s almost the same so it breaches him easily enough.

“More?” she asks, her voice still calm but dropped a little lower.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless and wanton, trying to rock back and get it deeper. “Yeah, fuck, put it in. Put it all the way in.”

He groans when she complies, her palm cool against his sweat-slick skin where it presses into the small of his back to pin him down. She stays still for a few moments as he adjusts to the depth and angle of penetration, and when he starts clenching himself around the dildo she urges him up on his knees. He lets his head hang and clenches his hands around the edge of the mattress as she starts to fuck him with it, switching between long, slow pushes-and-pulls and short, hard stabs against his prostate. Richard bites the duvet, grunts escaping from between fabric and clenched teeth, and the ugly coverlet’s been tossed on the floor in a heap.

“That’s it,” she encourages, angling her thrusts so he gets maximum stimulation and holding him open with her free hand to expose where the dildo’s going in and out of him. “There you go.”

He spits out the duvet on the particularly hard push and pants into the crook of his arm. “Fuck,” he gasps, looking down to where his cock is heavy and swollen between his legs, the head red and wet and dripping pre-come onto the mattress in sticky, pearlescent strings. “Turn it on,” he rasps, voice getting urgent as he’s getting closer, “please, ngh.”

Cate twists the base of the toy and it starts to hum, and she rubs Richard’s back as he shudders and makes overwhelmed noises. “Too much?” she asks, still entirely calm. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No,” he gasps, bucking uncontrollably as the vibrations thrum against his prostate and make his cock throb. “Oh god,” he groans, desperate and edging towards incoherent now that he’s getting tangibly close, “keep, keep going, oh fuck, yeah.”

He lapses into nonsense words and pleas then, groaned and grunted and gasped, and she fucks the dildo into him a little faster, reaches between his legs to roll his testicles in her palm and that’s it, he’s gone; cock twitching and spurting wildly between his legs as the vibrations milk his prostate, and all he can do is let out a long, too-loud groan as his hips buck uncontrollably.

She switches it off when the movements of his hips begin to lose their urgency and his moans have turned to small, rumbling noises in the back of his throat. She keeps thrusting for a short while, pushing the dildo languidly in and out before slowing down and then stopping all together. He groans again when she pulls it out completely, coaxing a last stab of pleasure from his over-stimulated body, and then collapses fully onto the bed, fighting to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he says into the duvet, and she pats his arse in something akin to sympathy.

“Is that better now?” she asks, and the balance of the mattress shifts as she moves out from between his legs and gets up.

Richard grunts non-committedly and she chuckles, her bare feet almost soundless on the carpet as she goes into the bathroom. He can hear the tap start, then stop, then start and stop again. He raises his head just long enough to see her come back with a wet flannel in hand, and she’s efficient and gentle about wiping the lube from between his cheeks. He almost wishes she’d stop to play with his slick hole, finger the stretched muscle and maybe prod his uncomfortably sensitive prostate, but she doesn’t. She does take the time to thoroughly rub his back, though, and he hums his appreciation.

She nudges him over onto his back and out of the wet spot he made, wipes his cock and balls down as well, the flannel getting cool now. She gets up again and goes back into the bathroom, and he watches the sway of her hips and the long line of her bare neck.

He’s arranged himself against the pillows when she re-emerges, and her smile is content when she gathers her shoes but doesn’t put them back on. He holds out his hand to her and she comes to him with a sigh, stopping next to the bed and raising a questioning eyebrow at him. He slides a hand under the skirt of her dress, nudges her knickers out of the way to find her slick and hot, and she lets him rub his fingers over and into her for a minute or two. Then she closes her hand around his forearm and moves him away, straightens her dress and slips her feet back into her shoes.

She leans down to kiss his forehead and smoothes his hair back, and her hands smell like soap. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” he murmurs, eyes heavy and voice getting sleepy, the scent of her perfume warm and strong at her pulse point. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Cate says, and Richard wakes up the next morning to a glass of water on his bedside table and an unwound, lazy feeling in his muscles and neither of them ever mentions it.


End file.
